


holding out for a hero

by leeklustre



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Foursome, Foursome - F/F/M/M, Ghost Sex, Incest, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Resurrection, Ritual Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeklustre/pseuds/leeklustre
Summary: Rey is now a Jedi Master in her own right, and it is with a Master's experience and consideration that she determines that she needs the help of Jedi who have gone before. The summoning ritual requires that once-close bonds become even closer.
Relationships: Leia Organa/Rey/Luke Skywalker/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6
Collections: Id Pro Quo 2020





	holding out for a hero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigo_inks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_inks/gifts).



Atop one of the tree-nests of Darrenli, the last Jedi in the galaxy sat and lifted her face to the sun. 

She was the only organism alive on the planet to enjoy it. The last tree-colony had died hundreds of years ago, doomed by the simple planetary ecosystem's total collapse. Rey didn't know _what_ the fatal wound had been, turning metal-rich trees as tall as shipyards into barbed, corroded skeletons, but she knew that the Dark side of the Force had dealt it.

Where the shadows fell elsewhere in the galaxy, they troubled her, but here, at this moment, their lingering influence suited her perfectly.

She needed the Dark to call the Light to balance it.

And it was _need_. Rey had had ten long years to balance hope and regret - to miss her companions in the Force, and mourn them, and move beyond what they had imagined for her. She had wanted General Leia's guidance as the reassurance of an elder, and she had put that aside and found reassurance within herself. She had wished for Master Luke's cynicism and utter survivor's certainty that worse had happened and worse would happen again, but she bore her own scars more visibly now, without having had him to show her how. And she still sometimes wondered who she would have been if she had grown strong in the Force as half of the dyad she could have made.

But she didn't need another Jedi to complete her own destiny. She needed another Jedi to save the galaxy. A storm was coming that she _knew_ \- didn't fear, didn't wonder, _knew_ \- she could not face on her own.

And so, a rite.

And so, this place, a place of the Force, where life had ebbed and now must flow.

After meditation, she removed her clothes, folding her wraps across the mat that she had been sitting on. The rite required almost nothing by way of physical tools or structures. No actions were required as preparation. The Force treated atoms and particles neutrally; it was will that it danced to. And receptivity. And desire.

It was a specific kind of need that was required here. 

Rey began to touch herself. For pleasure, of course, but it wasn't exactly self-pleasure, though she did some of it the same way; instead it was a kind of physical meditation. She pressed the knuckles of one hand into her cheek; she dragged fingernails lightly down her side; she slid the ball of her left foot down the calf of her right leg; she turned, eyes closed, and moved to kneel so that she could feel her thighs press against each other; and then she lifted herself so that she was kneeling on one knee, the other foot in front of her; and then she slid that foot back, kneeling with thighs pressed again. All to focus the attention of her acute Jedi senses on the feeling of flesh pressing against flesh. Flesh coming to meet flesh, and moving away.

This, she had learned, was how she must call them.

The trick was to replace her own touches with theirs. At first she kept her eyes closed, even when she carefully stood. Her hand on her own stomach, she resolutely imagined that it was another's hand - dividing her attention to imagine that under her own hand, another belly rippled with tension - and she took her hand away, and there it was - there was still a hand's presence here.

The ghost of a touch, inhabited by a different kind of ghost.

Ben's hand. She knew that it was his.

She hadn't been sure it would be Ben she called first. Of course, she'd had this kind of awareness of him before, from Ahch-To to Exegol - and before - and after, for a little while, a secret she'd have kept if there had been anyone to meaningfully keep it _from_. So perhaps it - and he - came easiest to her. But she also remembered Luke well, and remembered him as a man of earthy vitality. He'd almost flaunted his ways of getting his physical needs met on Ahch-To, first as a way to scare off his unwanted visitor, then, when that hadn't worked, out of pragmatic habit. And Leia - every touch between them had been platonic, every smile had been tempered to the most correct warmth, but Rey had wanted a mentor, and had wanted a friend, and had perhaps wanted a mother, and had perhaps wanted some way to call Leia hers - since she was already all those things to others.

But it was Ben who came now, and so she anchored him.

It was like shaping dry sand, where her own distracted mind was the wind that might blow the sand away. It was like using all of her body to shape clay. It was a kind of dance, where she moved around him with a hand or hip always in contact, creating him out of her own negative space.

She lifted her head and he kissed her, and she ran her hands over his back, feeling the familiar curve of his height now stooped towards her. She wanted to laugh - there was something so naively earnest in standing still with him, her hands exploring him, his hands exploring her. He took his lead from her with a diffidence she could only categorise as over-politeness.

She imagined his tongue pressing at her lips, but her imagination wavered - and then the sensation followed. There it was. She had not conjured it there, but she had thought it, and she had thought it clearly enough to a Ben who had manifested enough that he could hear her thought and respond to it.

She broke the kiss deliberately, focusing on the last sensation of him as she pulled away and the sensation of free air. She broke the silence between them: "Which of them shall we call next, Ben?" and felt his quick indrawn breath rush past her cheek, even though there was nothing to be seen with her eyes - only air mingling with air.

His hand, still far more Force than flesh, grabbed hers and pressed it to his side, helping her follow his movements as he got down on the mat spread across the tree-crown, lying almost flat on his back. He tugged her astride him. She found herself straddling him halfway up his torso, and he pulled her up his body until her thighs framed his head. She could almost - almost - feel the strands of his hair caught in the back of her knee.

She was hesitant to lower her full weight down, like someone hesitant to jump into a pool for the first time. As hesitant as someone who'd grown up on a desert world, even. And then she trusted, and lowered herself anyway, and Ben - or her own exertion of will upon the Force - or some combination of both - bore her weight.

Ben licked a long stripe up her core, which was very good, and she didn't sink through him, which was better.

She thought he hadn't answered her question until she felt Ben's torso shift, settling again, and then felt another chest press against her back and a rough chin rest on her shoulder. All at once: Luke making an entrance.

In more than one way. He drew back from her and then unmistakably pressed his body forward and down and _in_. Ben was panting rapidly under Rey's thighs and she pictured the expression he must be wearing: half pained, as his body adjusted, half intensely eager. She was amused, and almost a little impressed, that Luke and Ben had moved so quickly past preliminaries. Which of them had had this fantasy? Had it happened? Did they imagine it rough and hard or sweet and slick?

Luke's hands fell to Rey's sides, and he used her to brace himself as he drew himself back then drove forward again, faster, and then began to fuck his nephew in earnest. Luke gripped her with enough force - with his flesh hand as well as his prosthesis - that she had to lean over, reaching down past Ben to the mat, to prevent him from shoving her off Ben' face entirely. She tensed her thighs automatically and Ben took it as a command, eating her out with a ragged enthusiasm, as though he were chasing his own orgasm that way. What had begun as the product of her imagination only was now an encounter that she could be swept along and through. She gazed sightlessly into the tree-snarls, indulging her attention in the way her breasts, suddenly very sensitive, swayed in free hair; in Luke's iron-solid grip; in the more and more focused jerks of Ben's tongue against her clit, interspersed with long swipes and swallows. She moaned as she came, no longer afraid of drowning out the sounds of her companions, of losing them both when she let go.

She let her knees pitch her forward, sprawled above Ben's head, and then shrugged out of Luke's grip and rolled away. The sun cast her shadow on her companions now, and when she squinted, she could see them. Ben, face turned a little aside, knees pointing wide to left and right; Luke, bracketed by those knees, his elbows bracketing Ben in turn, pounding into the boy below him, the wry grin on his face a strange blend of pride and peace. Rey scooted more around them to get a better view and then set herself up with one hand between her thighs, one hand out to the side to lean on.

On the heels of her first orgasm, she found the next was never very far away, but she was in no hurry. If she concentrated, she could feel the warmth of another body at her side, and when she lifted the hand she was leaning on, could find something to wrap that arm around... And there she was, as bold as the lovers in front of her: half hugging Leia Organa, half fucking herself.

Leia's laughter stirred Rey's hair, and Leia's arm came slowly around Rey too.

The other two heard it, and looked up. Rey shifted a little to try to see what they saw, and couldn't. Leia's form was still indistinct to her own eye - though Luke's gaze blazed enough for both of them. For a moment, caught in the middle of sister and brother, mother and son, and uncle and nephew, love and longing and guilt and inalienable _possession_ , Rey felt like the insubstantial one.

"Leia," Luke said, and with a slow-dawning smile that must have been an answer to his sister's, he came to a shuddering halt between her son's thighs. 

"Come here," she answered, and the two of them pulled apart and surged into a tangled four. Rey found herself kissing the hollow of Luke's throat as Luke and Leia kissed each other, and teasing at Ben's cock almost idly before another hand shifted hers aside. It was certainly Leia's breasts that she rolled next through her fingers, Leia murmuring alternately sharp and approving directions, but it could have been anyone's fingers that joined Rey's own at her cunt, thrusting as she rubbed.

Then she was above Leia - except she wasn't, exactly; she thought Luke was lying on his back with Leia, also on her back, cradled on top of him, but their bodies were suddenly not quite distinct. Rey felt a surge of alarm - and shame, like an echo of something she'd almost forgotten to feel - but Ben, beside her, said quite clearly, "Don't worry, Rey, it's not falling apart. It's what's meant to be." And then he flooded into her body and the two of them, sharing matter and motion, moved on top of Luke-Leia and _through_...

She could feel her own thighs sliding across Leia's, and Luke's cock filling her. She could feel Ben's cock wrapped in wet warmth as his mother's body welcomed him. They were one and the same, and exquisitely distinct, as sensations split into fractals: Rey could sense Luke's body merged with Leia's, pressed against Ben's, in friction with Luke's, braced against Rey's, and so on, and so on, a million galaxies down...

And _up_. The composite pleasure was building towards something Rey was not sure she could survive, though she was even less sure she could stop it, or wanted to. The part of her still in her own body alone gasped, and rocked, and clenched, and came...

And _went elsewhere_. This was what the rite required, and it terrified and thrilled her. For a moment, she was not on Darrenli, and she had no connection to her body at all. She was in the same place that Luke and Leia and Ben were - if it was a place - summoned to _them_ rather than their summoner. All her instincts told her to fight, and react, and just as vehemently, all her instincts told her to let go.

She let go.

And then snapped back, as though her release had been a breath she let out, and her soul had breathed _in_ just as naturally, returning her to the plane she understood. She was flung across the mat, a tree-spike grazing her cheek, wrung out, every nerve strummed and singing.

Through the Force, she could feel only one other presence remaining with her.

She rolled slowly over. She was aching and exhausted under the velvet sensation of satisfaction and orgasm upon orgasm. The rite had succeeded. Now to see what she had wrought.

She knew, of course, but a moment before she opened her eyes - clinging to all possibilities, even ones the rite had not promised her - she pretended she did not.

Luke was sprawled on the mat with her. She thought she heard a whisper in her head that was too faint to even sort into a category of _idea_ or _emotion_ \- Ben? But it could have been nothing but her imagination, this time.

Luke's expression now was utterly void of lewd amusement - it was warm, and serious, and quite sad.

"I've lost count of how many chances I've had to make things right, Rey," he said. "I didn't ask for another one."

"I know," she said. "I need you to take this one."

And he took her offered hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to thinkatory for the beta!


End file.
